I’ve never liked inconveniencing people. I don’t want to be a bother. I could absolutely hate my meal and be in the middle of complaining about it, but when the waiter asks how it is, it’s inevitably “very good,” with the “very” elongated for maximum effect. I’ve gotten somewhat better at speaking up as I’ve gotten older. I think it’s because I’ve grown more irritable. Anyway, when I was 19 and a sophomore in college, I went to extremes to people-please.
I was shy in college but usually made a friend or two in each class. I had three levels of friends: those to whom I exchanged head nods, those to whom I said, “hey”, and those to whom I actually spoke with. Sometimes the head nods would transition to “hey’s,” and sometimes the “hey’s” would bloom into full-blown conversations. Unfortunately, in some cases, the “hey’s” would devolve to nods or total avoidance. I was (still am) soft-spoken, so I am positive that my greetings weren’t always audible, but if they didn’t reciprocate my greeting, they’d receive a head-down, sideways glance during the next encounter. Sophomore year, I made a friend in one of my history classes (my major)—talking before and after class. On the last day of spring semester, we walked back to our cars and wished each other a good summer break. “Have a good summer, John.” “You, too, Paul,” he replied. It was a pleasant exchange, except that my name is Anthony. I froze a bit, and not wanting to be rude, I said nothing, got into my car, and drove home. I thought it was unlikely I’d even see him again.
On the first day of class in the fall, who sits next to me? John, of course. “Hey, Paul.” Here was my chance. “Hey, John.” I whiffed. What did it really matter if he thought my name was Paul? Oh well, I thought. We happened to be taking our second class with the same professor, and the rest of the students had Professor Miller before, too. Why does this matter? Professor Miller knew everyone’s names, so she only took attendance aloud the first week. John didn’t notice that I wasn’t Paul during attendance, so I became Paul. Throughout the class, I developed a friendship with Jackie. She was intelligent, cute, and had a great sense of humor. I wanted to date her but never mustered the courage to ask her out. We did go to the campus café a couple of times, which was a big deal because my friends spotted us. But I digress. The semester moved along, with me becoming better friends with Jackie and remaining friends with John. On the final day of class, the three of us walked out together. “Enjoy winter break, Paul.” “Who the hell’s Paul?” asked Jackie. “Uh, he’s Paul.” “No, he’s not. His name’s Anthony.” I smiled nervously as they both turned to look at me. “Yeah…sorry, John. When you called me Paul last semester, I should have corrected you, but it felt awkward, and then when you called me Paul again on the first day of class, it felt too late to correct you. I also feared that you would have thought I was weird for not saying something earlier.” John’s response was an appropriate one: “Well, it’s weirder letting me call you Paul for the last three months.” He was right. “Well, my bad, man. Anyway, hope you have a good winter break and see you when you get back.”
I never saw John again. He either dropped out or had a friend in admissions who steered him clear of any classes I was registered for. I also never saw Jackie again. How could she ever be with a man who let another man call him the wrong name for months? Perhaps if I had asked her out before this incident, it could have been an amusing anecdote we reminisced about. Instead, I was just some weirdo. A weirdo who lacked even the minimal confidence to correct someone who was repeatedly calling him the wrong name. I assure you that nowadays, I swiftly correct anyone who calls me Andrew. And God help them if they call me Tony.